


like a river flows

by theroyalmess



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15431265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroyalmess/pseuds/theroyalmess
Summary: Five times (and five different ways) they choose to hold hands, and one time someone else chooses for them.





	like a river flows

**Author's Note:**

> This can be blamed almost entirely on Scott Moir and how he talks about holding Tessa's hand.
> 
> Title and subtitles are from, of course, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley.
> 
> Special thanks to [Nats_North_by_North](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nats_North_by_North/pseuds/Nats_North_by_North) for being the best cheerleader, and to [anakinleias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakinleias/pseuds/anakinleias), my fierce piglet, for all of your help and support.

  
  
**_i. only fools rush in_ **

 

She grimaces as she strokes alongside the boards, sinking into a few shallow lunges to stretch out her muscles. She considers herself a very level-headed and rational person, but these days, she’s feeling somewhat delusional. Every day she wakes up thinking maybe the pain will have gone away, and every day it rears its head after barely any time on the ice. She’s not sure why her legs are still hurting, even after the surgery, just knows that they are. But she won’t allow herself to acknowledge the possibility that the surgery didn’t work, because they’re only a year away from the Olympics and their training plan doesn’t have room for that kind of inconvenience.

A few meters away, he guzzles down some blue Powerade and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. As he skates over to her, he rubs his hand dry on the fabric of his sweatpants, and she wrinkles her nose. He’s such a _boy_. Part of him being such a _boy_ is that he isn’t always very observant. That’s worked out well for her the past few weeks, because she’s been in pain and trying to hide it, and he hasn’t seemed to notice that she’s been in pain and trying to hide it. At least, he hasn’t shown any indication.

She schools her face into what she hopes is a neutral expression. He approaches, gliding smoothly into place at her side. She expects him to take her hand, but instead, he loops two fingers and his thumb gently around her wrist.

“Hey,” he says, quietly.

She looks at him, a little surprised. Quiet isn’t the volume he typically chooses. Usually — especially recently — he’s pretty loud and pretty enthusiastic, nearly all of the time. She thinks sometimes he’s overcompensating, maybe he still feels bad about the month after her surgery when…  _ Now isn’t the time to be thinking about that, _ she scolds herself, silently.  _ Now is not the time for pain, or grudges, or emotional analysis. Only skating, and dancing, and winning. _

The callused pad of his thumb brushes along the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, stopping to rest on her pulse point.

“You okay? You’ve been…”

She looks down. She bites the inside of her cheek, then lifts her gaze to meet his and attempts a nonchalant smile.

“Yeah, I’m good!” she chirps. “Twizzles or combination spin next?”

His eyes flick back and forth, searching her face. She can see in the small furrow of his brow that he’s not really buying it, but he doesn’t push it.

He just squeezes her wrist and nods, and she just grits her teeth and pretends her legs don’t hurt.

  
  


**_ii. would it be a sin_ **

 

She’s been angry and frustrated almost all season, and she hates it. Thankfully, their free dance allows her to channel that anger and frustration on the ice and it’s considered in character. Not so thankfully, the judges haven’t seemed to appreciate it as much as she’d hoped.

They stand by the gate as the medal ceremony begins, and she fixes her ponytail, yanking perhaps a bit too aggressively. He reaches his hand out, and she grabs at it, also perhaps a bit too aggressively, her fingers curling into a fist around his thumb rather than wrapping around his palm. His head snaps towards her, and from what she can see out of the corner of her eye, the look on his face tells her he wasn’t expecting that, even as his expression mirrors her inner thoughts.  _ Her _ expression is calculatingly, intentionally blank. She doesn’t turn her head to look at him.

They wait, because their names aren’t being called first and won’t be preceded by the words “World Champions.”

They stand, and they wait, and she lets her thoughts wander. In a few minutes, they’ll have silver medals hanging around their necks. His fingers tap restlessly against the back of her hand. She tightens her grip on his thumb.

She thinks about the near future. Tries to visualize the next year in her mind, tries to see what the end result could be. She wonders if they’ll be on the second step of the podium again in eleven months, or if they’ll be standing on top and belting out their anthem like they were three years ago. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel like she can see anything clearly. It’s not a good feeling.

  
  


**_iii. surely to the sea_ **

 

It’s the best feeling she’s ever had. She feels simultaneously like she’s having an out-of-body experience and like she’s never been more present in a given moment in time. All of her senses and nerve endings are cranked up to eleven. The roar of the crowd rings in her ears, the tracks from the tears she’d let slip while on the podium tingle on her cheeks, the  _ thump thump _ of her heart pounds against her ribs, the bright white of the ice and vibrant purple of the boards blur together and sear her retinas — but above everything, the feeling of his hand in hers keeps her anchored.

She adjusts her fingers like it’s second nature, three around the back of his hand, pinky slipping in between his index and middle. She looks up at him as he looks up into the stands. The pure, absolute elation on his face makes it feel like he’s squeezing her heart instead of her hand.

She watches the flag clutched in his other hand as he waves it above their heads. It flutters in the air, flashes of red and white. She still can’t quite believe it.  _ God, they did it. They did it, they made it, they’re here. Together. _

She must have said that last word out loud because he grips her hand harder and says, “Always,” so that only she can hear.

She squeezes his hand back and presses her palm to his as closely as she can. He ducks his head, tucking his chin into his chest and bringing the flag in to rest against his heart. She can feel the energy thrumming through his body, knows that he’s taking a moment to rein in his emotions. She can’t help but wrap her other hand around his arm and pull herself nearer until the length of her upper body is lined up against his, shoulder to hip. She touches her forehead to his temple, and he turns his head just slightly so he can look up at her from beneath his lashes. Their eyes lock, and for a few seconds — out on the open ice, in the middle of an arena crawling with people, with dozens of cameras winking at them and the whole world watching — it all narrows down to just them. Just this.

  
  


**_iv. shall I stay_ **

 

She eyes him in concern, and he waggles his eyebrows at her — until he has to turn his head away to muffle a ridiculously loud sneeze into his shoulder, which pretty effectively ruins his attempt to distract her from the issue at hand.

They’re backstage, standing side by side waiting for the show to start, and while she’s confident, of course, that he wouldn’t risk her safety (or his) for the sake of his pride, she is also very familiar with his impressive ability to put mind over matter.

The matter, in this case, is the terrible cold he’s been fighting that resulted in him downing probably a spoonful too much of liquid Korean cold medicine about half an hour ago.

She looks around; everyone else is preoccupied chatting or doing last minute checks on costumes and skates. No one is looking at them, but even if anyone was, they’re about to hit the ice anyways. They could say they’re getting into character. Or people could speculate. Whatever. Right now, uncharacteristically, she doesn’t care about discretion all that much. She has more important things to worry about.

So, she extends her arm, and his hand immediately moves towards hers as if they’re magnets. She slides her fingertips down the length of his palm and neatly slots her fingers between his, all ten of their fingers intertwining with the ease of twenty years of familiarity.

She studies him and takes in his consistent sniffling, the exhausted slump of his shoulders, the mildly glazed look in his eyes. She squeezes his hand and leans in, so he can hear her quiet voice above the clamor of the other skaters. “Babe, it’s not too late yet. Are you sure you—”

He raises their joined hands for a second and drops a fleeting kiss on her knuckles. “I promise.”

She huffs out a sigh; he’s the only person she knows who’s more stubborn than she is.

“Fine. But do you promise to go straight back to the hotel afterwards and sleep for at least ten hours?”

“I promise,” he chuckles, and winks at her. “Only if I’m not in that bed alone.”

“Great,” she bats her eyelashes innocently, “I’ll let Chiddy know you need company.”

He groans dramatically and shifts as if to pull his hand away from hers, but she doesn’t allow it, digging her blunt fingernails lightly into the back of his hand.

She uses their handhold as leverage to rise up on her toe picks, and she tilts her head so she can whisper in his ear.

“Just teasing. I’ll help you feel better.”

The look he shoots her when she lowers her heels back to the ground is the way she used to hope he’d look at her, so many years ago, when she wasn’t the one holding his hand, when they weren’t together except on the ice.

Now, she is. And they are.

She winks back at him.

  
  


**_v. darling, so it goes_ **

 

She listens to the crunch of the path beneath the soles of her white sneakers, feels the gentle snap of small twigs as her weight shifts from one foot to the other. The bright afternoon light is soft here, diffused by the leaves and filtered through the hundreds of thin tree trunks that stretch on and on in every direction.

She can hear the buzz of the group a little ways behind her, with a loud laugh breaking through now and then. The small smile on her lips is genuine; this trip has been non-stop fun, and these friends, new and old, have filled her heart with the kind of joy that makes her think, _how lucky I am that this is the life I get to live_. But it’s the moments like this that she makes the effort to steal, quiet minutes where she can close her eyes and hear herself think and focus on the warmth of the sun on her face, when she can feel her energy recharging. Moments when she’s alone, by herself, or alone, with—

She feels his presence a second before she hears his footsteps, and two seconds before he appears at her side. He glances over his shoulder to gauge how far back everyone else is, then hooks his pinky finger around hers. She looks at him, her lips curving when she sees his unrestrained grin, and he leans in closer.

“Hi. I have something for you,” he whispers conspiratorially. She quirks an eyebrow, noticing his other hand hidden behind his back.

He beams at her and tugs on her hand to bring her closer. She moves without resistance and lifts her eyes to his, when he reaches over swiftly with his left hand. She sees a flash of lilac in her peripheral vision, and then he’s tucking a tiny flower behind her ear.

“Pretty,” he murmurs as he gently brushes a few strands of hair back from her face. His fingertips linger at her temple, trailing down her jaw as their steps slow to a stop. She can feel the soft smile spreading across her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes as she looks up at him.

Someone’s voice cuts into the stillness, alerting them to the others catching up, and before their friends round the corner, he lowers his head to press a kiss to her cheek. He pulls away, his smile matching hers, and tugs on her pinky once more before letting go.

  
  


**_vi. some things are meant to be_ **

 

“Tessa! Can you come over here, please?”

Tessa blinks and looks over at Mrs. Carol on the other side of the rink. She’s standing there with another kid, a boy, whose posture looks like there are at least a hundred other things he’d rather be doing.

She skates across to them as directed, sliding to a stop and fiddling nervously with her big mittens.

Mrs. Carol smiles at her and puts a hand on top of the boy’s head, squishing down his spiky hair.

“This is Scott, my nephew. Have you guys met before?”

Scott shrugs, noncommittally. So Tessa shrugs, too.

“I was thinking you two could try skating with each other for a bit. Does that sound fun?”

Scott shrugs again. Tessa isn’t sure if shrugging again would be rude, or if she should say something.

Before she can decide what to do, Mrs. Carol nudges Scott towards Tessa. “Can you hold hands and do a few laps around the rink?”

“Why?” Scott demands, with the level of petulance only a nine-year-old boy can achieve.

Mrs. Carol sighs, only slightly impatiently. “Because I’m your coach, and  _ your  _ aunt—” she points at him, “—and I would just like to see how you skate together.”

Scott makes a face, but he seems to know a lost battle when he sees one.

“Fine,” he mumbles. He turns to Tessa. “Let’s go?”

She blushes, and then feels a little embarrassed for blushing. She hasn’t held that many boys’ hands, but it can’t be that different from holding her sister’s hand or her brother’s hand or her best friend’s hand, right? And Mrs. Carol asked them to, so she can’t really say no.

Tessa reaches out, and Scott takes her hand. Even through the fleece of her mitten, she can feel the heat of his palm and the way his fingers lock securely around hers.

She was wrong — it does feel different. It feels like something completely new.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it all the way down here: thanks for reading! I'm so, so grateful. Leave a few words if you want, and/or come chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/theroyaImess) or [tumblr](https://bartowskis.tumblr.com/)! I'd love to hear what you think, what you liked, what worked for you... :)


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